


Kerning

by aMillyOrates



Series: On the (t)Ropes [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 13:46:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aMillyOrates/pseuds/aMillyOrates
Summary: When Bucky Barnes first saw Steve Rogers, he almost broke the guy's nose in the stairwell of their office building.





	Kerning

Bucky had thought he was alone. For the past two hours, the office had been empty, silent save for the rustling of his papers and the scratch of the pen across them. Outside, the bustle of a fall day in Brooklyn was fading into the bustle of Brooklyn at night - more shouting, more honking, fewer tourists exclaiming over leaves, but all of it background noise. Had Bucky looked up, he would have noticed the door opening, the figure creeping closer to his desk. But Bucky didn't look up; hadn't for at least two hours. He was in a zone.

Which was why he shrieked - but only a little - when a woman slammed her fist against his cubicle wall with a BANG!

"Barnes! What's this I hear about you volunteering for the Garden State project?"

"Jesus Christ, Darcy!" Bucky pushed his hair off his forehead and spun in his chair, glaring. Unfazed, Darcy Lewis, office manager, grinned and put down a two-inch pile of printouts with a mocking pat. She was a woman made of sauce and sass, all five feet four inches of her, and she happened to be one of Bucky's closest friends in the office. 

He sort of wanted to strangle her. 

"I thought you hated Jersey," Darcy continued with a knowing smirk. Bucky rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. 

"You were in the meeting," he said, "and my review's coming up in a few months. I figured I'd help out. Fury said we're gonna be overworked with this one, so..."

Darcy hummed. "I remember him saying that. I also remember your  _face_ when he said we're pulling in Rogers from development." She exaggerated a swoon. "Like all your dreams came true." 

"Shut up," Bucky gritted, thankful that it was after hours and nobody was around to hear her teasing. He cut an intimidating figure, he knew, tall and bulky, with long brown hair and a face that, according to Darcy, always looked like he was contemplating murder. Nobody would take him seriously again in the office if they could see him now, flushed red and frazzled. "He has nothing to do with it." 

"There is literally nothing you could say that would convince me otherwise, and I'm way too tired to listen to you try." She blew him a kiss and flounced her way to the doors. " Just remember to invite me to the wedding, and lock up when you're done!" 

" _You_  lock up," Bucky grumbled, casting a despairing look at the pile of specs she'd left behind on his desk. Fucking Jersey project. He'd worked development with that client, a giant pain in the ass called Pierce, exactly once before vowing to never collab with him again. In fact, when his boss, Fury, had mentioned the project was up for grabs, Bucky had been ready to hand it over to Scott - who took more than his fair share of time off and was always jonesing for extra work to make up for it. 

That plan had all gone out the window the moment Fury had mentioned bringing in development, bringing in  _Steve Rogers_. The quality of the guy's work was legendary. Projects that took entire teams weeks to finish, Rogers could handle in a few days, and he had a WPM rate that was almost superhuman. Bucky couldn't wait to finally meet him - 

\- especially since he'd been half in love with him for the past three months. 

* * *

When Bucky Barnes first saw Steve Rogers, he almost broke the guy's nose in the stairwell of their office building.  

Bucky had been coming in from lunch, mood soured by the long lines and sweltering heat of the nearby deli, and he'd pushed the door open harder than necessary. At the same time, the person on the other side had pulled, and under their combined efforts the door had flown inward and almost straight into the guy's face. 

"Woah," the man had laughed, letting go of the handle. "I  _thought_ that was opening too easy." His bright blue eyes had flicked up to sparkle good-humoredly at Bucky. "And here I thought I got super strong." 

It was obviously a joke: The guy's shiny blond head barely came up to halfway Bucky's chest, and he looked like a strong breeze might lift him away: soft and almost delicate, tucked away smartly into a pair of dark jeans, a crisp white shirt, and (Lord help Bucky) an actual work vest. He was the most beautiful person Bucky'd ever seen.

Next to him, unshaved and wearing a faded NASA shirt and a smear of amba on his pants, Bucky'd felt overlarge and clumsy - and awkward, as he realized with a jolt that he'd been staring. 

"No, I'm - sorry, here," he'd fumbled with his words and the door, moving to the side so the man could pass through. 

"No worries. Thanks," he had thrown over his shoulder as he left, and that had been that. 

Bucky never would have even known his name had Stan at security not called out, "Late lunch, huh, Mr. Rogers?" and Steve not responded with, "C'mon, Stan. Call me Steve, please."  

Bucky had only seen him from a distance afterwards, but the little he had seen - Steve helping Arnie with his bags in the parking garage, Steve getting honorable mentions in the company's email blasts, Steve volunteering at the community fairs (always too far or too busy for Bucky to approach) - had all been enough for Bucky to develop a harmless, hopeless crush on the guy. 

And tomorrow, at 8:00am, he'd be in a meeting with him. Bucky'd gladly take on ten Jersey projects for that.

* * *

Cavalier and sarcastic she may be, but Darcy Lewis was a fantastic office manager. When Bucky rolled into the conference room at 7:00, she was sitting in a chair at the back of the room, fingers tapping away at her Kindle. The conference room was well-lit and filled with dark furniture, the table waxed and shiny and lined with five business chairs - each spot occupied by a crisp portfolio and a bottle of water. Bucky took a deep breath and practically whimpered at the smell of rugelach and freshly roasted coffee. 

"You're an angel," Bucky muttered and made a beeline for the serving table. 

"You're early," she responded, then looked up and whistled, "and you're  _fancy_. Do I smell aftershave?" 

Bucky shoved a pastry in his mouth and glared. So he'd ironed his shirt and gone for a pair of grey slacks instead of jeans, so what? "We're meeting with a client, Darcy." 

"I wasn't aware we honey trapped our clients now."

"Oh for - it's just a white shirt. _"_

"It's a white  _button-up_ with the  _sleeves rolled up,_ " she returned gleefully, as if pointing out the obvious somehow proved her point. "And with those shoulders...I almost feel bad for your buttons, man."

Bucky rolled his eyes, though the comment did lodge in his head like a splinter. Did he look ridiculous, he wondered, bulky and dressed in clothes that didn't fit? He tried to push the thought out of his mind, reminding himself that he was just wearing a white shirt, nothing fancy, and instead took his coffee to the table to review the meeting materials. 

"I can never decide if I should be grateful that somebody actually reads those," Darcy turned her attention back to her Kindle, "or depressed that you got here an hour early to do it."

"I like to be prepared," Bucky said offhandedly, already making notes on his agenda. He'd need it for this meeting, anyway. Last time he'd worked New Jersey with Hydra, Alexander Pierce had done his best to make the contract a living hell. He'd even gone so far as to call Bucky's morals and qualifications into question, fabricating conversations between the two of them about Bucky agreeing to terms not in the contract. It had been a nightmare. Even this morning, Pierce calling the meeting so early was a calculated power move, but Bucky wasn't going to be caught off guard.

Not by  _that_ , anyway. 

"Morning." The door clicked open, and who should poke their beautiful, bleary blond head in but Steve Rogers himself. He clearly didn't agree with mornings - or possibly wasn't feeling well, judging by his red nose and glassy eyes - though that hadn't stopped him from looking fantastic with a pressed collar shirt folding neatly under a soft-looking cardigan. Darcy may have had a point about the rolled up sleeves, Bucky thought as he tapped his pen nervously against the table.

"Hey."

"Oh,  _hi_ Steve," Darcy said, looking quite pleased with herself. Thankfully, Darcy always looked pleased with herself, so there was nothing to make Steve suspicious. "Have you met Bucky?"

"Not officially," Steve looked over and smiled, and  _damn_  what a smile. It could knock the knees off a guy.  "I've heard of you though. Hi."

Steve's voice was either deep from the early hour or just naturally designed to shiver down Bucky's spine. Bucky managed a half-smile and wave before turning back to his notes. He wondered if Steve remembered the first time they'd "met," and then he couldn't decide if it would be better or worse if he didn't.

With Steve and Darcy chatting amiably behind him, Bucky found it impossible to concentrate on his notes. He had managed to uselessly underline "Processes" three times before he heard Darcy sigh. 

"Pierce'll be here any minute now. I'm gonna go man the front desk. Good luck, boys." 

"Thanks for the breakfast, Darcy," Steve called, sitting in the chair at the head of the table, next to Bucky. A beat passed in silence before a sudden rattling cough ripped through Steve, harsh and loud against the smallness of his frame. 

"Jesus." Bucky breathed when the coughing fit passed. Steve waved him off, cheeks red and eyes watery, pulled an inhaler from his bag, and took a few puffs. "Are you okay?" Bucky asked. 

"I'm fine," Steve insisted, ears red. He opened his own folder and frowned at the meeting agenda. "Just getting over a cold. I wasn't gonna miss this meeting for anything." He looked over at Bucky, shoulders back like he was bracing for a fight. "I'm fine." 

The last thing Bucky wanted to do was offend the guy he'd been admiring for the past three months. "If you say so," he allowed before gesturing to Steve's empty coffee mug. "Lemme get you another cup though. Cream? Sugar?"

"Just coffee," Steve sighed, "and thanks." He was quiet for a minute, twisting a pen in his fingers - not that Bucky was watching his fingers, or anything. Even if they were distractingly long and capable looking. Remembering that most men didn't appreciate it when other men stared longingly at their hands, Bucky quickly looked down.

Steve cleared his throat. "It's good to meet you," he said over his shoulder at Bucky, and Bucky would've called it shy if that wouldn't have been completely ridiculous. "I've heard a lot about your work. Your contracts are always really solid." 

Busying himself with the pot, Bucky hummed noncommittally. "It's just my job." He chanced a smile, happy to see Steve return it. "But thanks." 

He handed off the coffee to Steve, with some extra napkins in case Steve started sneezing or something, along with a glass of orange juice. Steve eyed it wryly, but he thanked Bucky all the same.

"I really feel fine," he assured Bucky before changing the subject. "You've worked with Pierce before, right?"

"Unfortunately." 

Steve's eyes sparked. "Between you and me?" he leaned forward conspiratorially, as if he and Bucky had been friends for ages, "I begged Maria to put me on this project. I fucking  _hate_ Hydra." 

Bucky blinked, not sure which was more startling: the expletive, coming from such a proper-looking little guy, or the sentiment. "Why did you want to work with them if you hate them?" 

"Because I am going to  _tear them apart,_ " Steve' coughed again, though his grin remained bright and infectious; Bucky found himself grinning back. "Did you hear what they did to Parker on the last collab?" Parker, a wunderkind with a lot of enthusiasm and skill, but not so much experience, had taken on the Jersey client when Bucky had refused to work with them again. The poor kid had almost lost his job. Bucky winced.

"And I heard Pierce was a huge dick to you, too," Steve went on. "Didn't he make up an entire meeting once, to throw you under the bus?"

Bucky hadn't realized it was company-wide knowledge. He forced himself not to slouch in his seat. "Not entire meetings." Steve looked at him expectantly, still with that same air of camaraderie. It settled something anxious in Bucky, made him feel like he was talking to a long-time friend, rather than a long-time crush. "Fake phone calls."

"That's still terrible!" Steve continued, incensed. "And they keep throwing all these loopholes in the contracts without giving us enough time to find them. SHIELD is going to start losing business if this goes on." 

Despite himself, Bucky was charmed. He knew he looked like a tough, serious guy; and most people didn't bother getting outraged on his behalf. Steve, apparently, had no problems with it. "What, so you're going to avenge the company, then?" 

"Weeell," Steve waggled his hand. "It's less out of company loyalty than it is the fact that I hate bullies."

Bucky laughed. "Very noble," he teased, though his sincerity must've bled through, because Steve's smile turned shy again. 

Bucky's heart thudded in his chest. It was bizarre - he had the distinct feeling that he was being recruited for some kind of rebellion, even though he and Steve were very much peons and wouldn't be contributing much to the meeting itself. 

Well, if he was in for a penny..."You let me know what I can do to help you out," he said. "I've got your back." He held out his fist. "Fuck Hydra?" 

Steve bumped his fist against Bucky's. "Fuck Hydra. Let's split another rugelach."

Between the two of them, they drained the coffee Darcy had prepared, so Bucky took to pressing another roast while Steve looked over the meeting materials at a speed that - if Bucky hadn't known his reputation - would have given the impression that Steve wasn't even reading at all.

Steve muttered under his breath as he read. It was kind of adorable.

At a quarter to 8, Steve's boss, Maria Hill, head of contract development, marched into the room, hair pulled back severely and a keen look in her eye as she took in Bucky and Steve. "Barnes," she acknowledged before looking at Steve with something close to exasperation. "Steve," she said warningly.

Steve held up his hands. "I feel completely fine. It's just in my chest, that's all." Maria narrowed her eyes. "I'll go home after the meeting." When Maria simply frowned, Steve sighed and added: "I promise not to start anything."

Looking between the two of them, Bucky decided it'd be better not to ask, especially since the door opened again, this time to Fury, intimidating as ever in his trench suit and permanent scowl. He was followed by a man who looked calm, capable, and down to earth, with an easy smile and laughter lines around his eyes - Alexander Pierce, snake, and director of Hydra.

"Good morning, everyone," Pierce said affably, taking a seat at the head of the table, smiling at Bucky when he saw him. "Ah, James Barnes, is it? A pleasure to see you again. I hope we don't have any other unfortunate hiccups this time around." 

Bucky forced himself not to scowl, though Steve had no such censure and was looking at Pierce like he was trying to figure out which part of his face he wanted to punch first. Pierce noticed.

"And who's this?" he asked Fury.

"Steve Rogers," Maria answered. "He's our top reviewer. We're putting him on our development team with Barnes." 

Pierce's smile grew oily, pleased, perhaps at the idea of fresh meat at the table. "Well well, the best? It'll be a pleasure to work with you, Steve."

"I'm looking forward to it," Steve said, more of a threat than a civility.

Bucky was frankly astonished that so much fire could come in a package so small. The guy had needed to raise his chair five inches just to sit comfortably at the table, and here he looked like he was one second away from throwing down.

If Bucky hadn't been enamored of Steve before, he certainly was by the end of the meeting. Pierce was a hassle, changing the conversation points frequently and bringing up anecdotes to eat up time - perfectly pleasant each time Fury and Maria redirected him back to settling on terms of agreement.

The whole while, Steve sat deadly still, watching Pierce like a hawk, marking notes and clearing his throat loudly every time Pierce cut off Maria. It should have been hard to reconcile this fierce (and sniffling) fireball with the kind-hearted professional Bucky had first admired, but instead Bucky found the duality fascinating.

(Though he was going to get some chicken soup into this man, once the meeting was over. That cough did  _not_ sound good.)

Finally, they came to the last of the project schedule. "That will give us an hour for your team to run a thorough review," Pierce said decidedly, "before delivering the papers to my legal aides."

Steve's eyebrows shot up, and for the first time since the meeting had started, he spoke up. "An  _hour_? For...what, 50 pages?" He looked at Bucky for confirmation.

"At least." Bucky flicked over his notes. "Closer to 60." Page-through reviewers weren't his thing, but even he knew that you couldn't proof 60 pages in an hour. Steve snorted derisively, Maria sighed, and Pierce closed his folder with a firm  _snap_.

All at once, the tension in the room shifted - as if the conference table had become a tiltyard, with Pierce on one end and Steve on the other, and the rest of them were there to witness the charge. 

Pierce, on his damn high horse, certainly fit the mold. "Is there a problem?" he asked, all appearances of sincerity. 

"Yeah, there's a problem. Standard rate is 10 to 15, maybe  _8_ pages an hour for a really thorough read." Steve shot back, not even trying to sound polite. "I've topped out at 25 pages in an hour, but I'd proofed the document beforehand." 

Fury set his pen on the table and leaned forward. "Are you saying you can't do it?" 

"I'll do it," Steve answered, still looking at Pierce. "I'm just clarifying that the review will be the best I can do in such little time. If you want  _thorough_ , I'll need more time. An hour ain't gonna cut it." 

"'Ain't?'" echoed Pierce. "Nick, this is your best?" The smile he gave Steve was just on the condescending side of pleasant. "Shouldn't you speak like an educated person?" 

"I work on contracts. That language has to be a certain level of professional, sure, but that's my job. It ain't my business, or anybody's business, to worry about how somebody talks outside of that,"  Steve explained calmly, but with a jut to his jaw that yelled  _fight me, you fucker_. 

Bucky stifled a grin. 

"Well we certainly wouldn't want to miss anything important, would we?" Fury cast a gimlet eye in Pierce's direction and pounced, wheedling an extra day out of the schedule for Steve's review. It took time, and more use of diplomacy than Bucky cared to ever encounter, but eventually Pierce, face pinched like he'd swallowed a lemon, agreed to the terms. 

His opinion of Steve, however, had obviously shifted from predatory to Machiavellian. "I look forward to seeing what you can do," he told Steve as Fury took him to the door. Before he left, Pierce cast a dismissive eye over Bucky. "It will be a pleasure to work with... competent staff."

To his horror, Bucky felt himself flush. " _Don't flick off the client_ ," he reminded himself. " _Don't flick off the client._ "

"Dick," Steve growled just as the door clicked shut behind Fury and Pierce - whether or not they heard was anyone's guess. 

Maria definitely had. "Go  _home_ ," she hissed, pushing a pile of napkins across the table. "And blow your damn nose! Honestly, sniffling through a meeting like you're about to cry. What part of 'I can take care of it' didn't you understand?" 

"Uh," Bucky said, more to remind Maria that he was there than because he had anything to say. She glared at him, sharp, like she was looking for an excuse to send Bucky home as well. For such a petite woman, she cut like a blade. No wonder she and Fury got along so well. "I can..." Bucky hedged, "I can see him out?"

"Good." Maria nodded, and Bucky almost sagged in relief when she turned back to Steve. "Get out of here." 

Steve grumbled, but did as he was told, and Bucky gathered his things up to meet him at the door. Maria was eyeing the last of the breakfast pastries, but she still called out, "I don't want to see you here until Monday. Steve. You just got out of the hospital, for Christ's sake." 

" _What_?" Bucky looked at Steve, incredulous. For his part, Steve simply rolled his eyes, as if Bucky's reaction had been overly dramatic. "You were in the  _hopsital_?" 

"I was discharged." He shrugged, as if to say  _no big deal_ , and headed down the hallway. 

Suddenly, Maria's annoyance made sense. Bucky frowned, suspicious. "What did you have?" he asked. Around them, people were just starting to trickle into the office, drowsy with the morning hour. One woman Bucky didn't recognize was talking commandingly on her phone - sounding as if she were leading a meeting. She caught sight of them as they passed her through the front doors, and she held her hand over the mouthpiece. 

"What are you doing here?" She whispered to Steve. "Go home!" Steve pointed to the elevators, and the woman made a shoo-ing motion with her hand before returning to her meeting, walking into the office with a strong stride. 

"...How long ago did they discharge you?" Bucky asked, hitting the button for the elevators.

"Two days ago," Steve admitted. "Listen, so I wanted to - "

"What did you  _have_?" Bucky pressed, not letting Steve change the subject, and Steve's shoulders hunched towards his ears.

"Just a bit of, uh, pneumonia."

"Pneumonia." Bucky repeated, voice flat. He wondered if Fury would notice if he took the extra time to walk Steve down to the lobby. Only, Steve wasn't having any of it, saying again that he was fine.

"Let's have lunch on Monday," he insisted when the elevator arrived. "Noon? In the lobby?"

Bucky could hardly believe it. The guy was practically swaying on his feet, and he still wanted to talk business? "Not if you're still coughing," he tried to sound stern.

To his complete surprise, Steve  _winked._  "Incentive to get better, then," he said as the doors closed, leaving Bucky dumbfounded and off-balance in the lobby. 

* * *

Steve did not get better.

On Monday morning, an IM from  _Rogers, Steven G._ was waiting for Bucky through the company chat application, blinking on his screen when he powered up his workstation.

_**Hey, Bucky. I'm working from home today. Can't make lunch. Sorry.**_

Disappointment warred with pleasure that Steve had reached out in the first place.  _Thanks for letting me know_ , Bucky typed, then:  _fever come back or something?_

Maybe it was nosey, and maybe Steve would tell him to back off, but Bucky was genuinely worried. Last week had given the impression that Steve didn't tend to his own health very well - or, at least, he didn't prioritize it.

_**Nah. I broke a rib this weekend.** _

_!!!!_ _Doing what???_

**Fighting crime** , came the reply, and - remembering Steve squaring off against Pierce - Bucky almost believed it. 

_I actually can't tell if that's true or not,_ Bucky responded.  _Am I going to see a report of a suspicious disappearance of Hydra's director?_

_**Ha.**  _Steve typed back.  ** _I wish. Nah, I just had a nasty coughing fit._**

_You can break ribs from coughing?_

**Not easily. Takes skill** , Steve sent back along with the strong-arm emoji. Given that Steve was a five-foot-three pile of toothpicks, and that he was home and likely sitting in bed surrounded by pillows (at least, he'd  _better_ be), the image made Bucky smile. 

_Very impressive_ , he typed, ignoring the morning conversation going on around him.  _Does it hurt real bad? I've only broken an arm, but it hurt like a bitch._ While Steve was typing, another thought occurred to Bucky.  _How do you deal with broken ribs?? You can't put a cast on them._

**I've been told to not move, to not cough, and to breathe very shallowly. Except, every once in a while I have to take a really deep breath, and that is NOT fun.** Steve responded. Bucky frowned, remembering the inhaler from last week's meeting. Shallow breaths were bad for people with asthma, right? And wasn't Steve still recovering from pneumonia?

_Why do you have to do that?_

**_It prevents lung fail, apparently._**

Frown deepening, Bucky threw his hands up, grateful that he was in a cubicle and free from witnesses to his exasperation.  _Shouldn't you be in the hospital?_

Steve's response was swift.  ** _If I had a dime for every time somebody told me to go to the hospital, I might actually be able to afford going to the hospital._**

Bucky had the distinct sense that he was being glared at through his screen, so he clicked open his browser and did a fast search for a GIF, finding an awkward one of Boyle from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. He copied and sent it as his response.

**_My ribs are broken, asshole. Don't make me laugh!_**

_Sorry!_ Bucky grinned, torn between smug amusement and actual concern. 

**_Did you watch the new season, by the way?_** Steve went on.  ** _What'd you think?_**

It turned out, Steve was an excellent distractor at work. He watched many of the same shows as Bucky, and had a wickedly dry sense of humor that had Bucky snickering at his desk between program updates. Bucky kept the messenger window on his screen throughout the day, chatting on and off and complaining about his workload. Steve was apparently a fast worker even when bedridden. He'd finished all his assignments by noon and spent the rest of his day watching episodes of Master Chef and providing advice when Bucky needed help on the writing side of development.

 

 

 

Fractured ribs, Bucky had educated himself through WebMD, took months to completely heal - and when caused by coughing, usually indicated osteoporosis.

 _Drink milk._ Bucky messaged Steve, along with a screenshot of WebMD's page. 

 ** _I'm lactose intolerant_** , Steve responded, because of course he was.  ** _Besides, I have a great rant about the evils of the dairy industry. Wanna hear?_**

_NO._

_**lol too bad**_

The rant had been rousing, disgusting, and guilt-inducing in turn. Not enough for Bucky to give up cheese, but he promised Steve that he'd start drinking soy milk instead of creamer in his coffee. 

_**Baby steps.** _

_Stop trying to revolutionize me, Rogers._  

Around 3:00, Steve signed off, claiming drowsiness from his pain medication. His departing  ** _See you tomorrow, Buck :)_** had lifted Bucky's spirits high enough that even a micromanaging email from Pierce couldn't bring him down.

The week dragged on, and the deadline for Bucky's end of the Jersey project grew closer. He'd double and triple checked his work, had attended multiple meetings with Fury and Maria, and was staying hours after close of business to get the drafts ready for Pierce's review. Steve had helped where he could, voluntarily reviewing the narrative, but he still hadn't been cleared to come into the office.

_**Maria's a great boss** ,_ Steve wrote to Bucky at the end of the week.  ** _But if I have to spend five more weeks at home, I'm going to go nuts._**

_Your ribs are broken, Steve._

**_I'm just sitting around! I can sit at the office just as well as I can sit at home._  **Bucky could practically hear the pout in Steve's voice.  ** _But Maria says the train is "too crowded and jarring"_**

A wild impulse seized Bucky, and without thinking, he offered:  _I have a car. I usually take the train, but I can drive you on Monday if you want?_

A long pause followed, Bucky's stomach twisting tighter with every beat that Steve didn't respond. Had he overstepped? He'd thought he and Steve were becoming friends, even if just office friends; was it weird to offer help to office friends outside the actual office?

A line of dots appeared below Steve's icon, cutting into Bucky's doubt.  ** _Oh man, that'd be great. Would you? You don't mind?_**

Then:  ** _Why the hell do you own a car??_**

Bucky rolled his eyes.  _To offer ungrateful coworkers free rides, apparently._

Steve's next message contained an address and a smiley with its tongue sticking out.  ** _Thaaaaaank you Buckyyyyy_**

**_Here's my number - let me know when you're at my place. See you Monday. Thanks again :)_**

Of all the ways Bucky had imagined getting Steve's number, pneumonia had never been one of them; but he'd take what he could get. 

* * *

In hindsight, enabling Steve's blatant disregard for his own well being had not been the best of ideas. 

"Are you  _sure_ you should be going into work?" Bucky eyed Steve worriedly as Steve moved carefully, slowly, gingerly - as if he were disarming a bomb rather than handing Bucky two takeaway cups from Starbucks. His stiff movements aside, it was Steve's clothes that had thrown Bucky for a loop. In contrast to his usual pressed and fitted attire, Steve held himself stiffly underneath an oversized sweater and a pair of loose khakis. Bucky assumed anything else was too difficult to put on with fractured ribs. Brushing his hair must have been an ordeal that Steve had given up on as well; it stood up around his head in shiny blond tufts.

Still, he managed to look adorable.

"Don't worry about it, yeesh. You're like a mama bear," Steve groused. A strange thrill ran through Bucky. He was used to people being afraid of him, or at least deferring to him based on his size. Steve didn't seem to care that Bucky had a perpetual scowl and frame too bulky for most waiting room chairs. It was nice, not being treated like he was a threat.

Steve slid into his seat with as little movement as possible. "I've got a brace on," he admitted, "and I have all my pain meds. I'll be fine, assuming you can actually drive this thing." He fastened his belt pointedly. "Good morning, by the way."

Rather than smile like a dope, Bucky sipped at his coffee and turned his car back into traffic. "Does Maria know you're coming in today?"

Steve grinned happily. "No, and I can't wait to see her face. You're a co-conspirator now."

Being a co-conspirator with Steve Rogers had its ups and downs. On the low end of things, Bucky was pretty sure Maria Hill had it out for him now. He'd received a vague email from her twenty minutes after dropping Steve off in development; the email had seemed pleasant, as if she were thanking him for taking care of Steve, but it left Bucky feeling distinctly threatened.

As a positive, though, co-conspiring meant that Steve continued to message Bucky; and there was the added benefit of Bucky being able to bring Steve food throughout the workday. 

"Mama bear," Steve accused when Bucky showed up at his desk bearing takeout. "You gonna stay and make sure I don't choke or something?"

Bucky had shrugged happily. "I'd better," he answered, and from there it was easy to establish a tradition of eating lunch with Steve.

Of all the ways Bucky had imagined getting to spend time with Steve Rogers, broken ribs hadn't been part of them.

At this rate, he'd owe their first date to diabetes or something.

Not that there was time for dating, or even time to ascertain whether or not Steve would be interested in dating. In the weeks since Pierce had gotten hold of Bucky's drafts, he'd begun to tear the project apart, demanding that Bucky re-draft the contract with the only direction being "improve this." He kept Steve similarly occupied by sending him huge documents to "edit down to scale."

People had taken to avoiding the break room when Bucky and Steve were in it. "He isn't even using those documents," Steve groused and stabbed at his dumpling container. His ribs were almost healed, but Bucky didn't intend to let that stop him from bringing Steve lunch whenever he could - especially with Pierce doubling down on the asshole front. He glared murderously into his wonton soup.

An intern entered the room, looked at the circles under Steve's eyes and the rage in Bucky's, and cautiously approached the coffee pot. "I  _know_ he's just trying to get me too tired to catch whatever he's trying to sneak in there," Steve ranted, "and I swear he's got somebody on his end deleting periods just to fuck with me." 

"If he tells me to 'improve the contract' one more time, I'm going to light my computer on fire," Bucky growled. The intern tittered a nervous laugh and promptly left.

"Shove the contract up his ass," Steve suggested darkly. "That'll improve it." 

"I don't want to go anywhere near his ass."

"Not your type?"

Bogged down by exhaustion and hatred for Hydra, Bucky forgot himself. "He's a little old for me. And I prefer my men to  _not_ be terrible people."

It wasn't until Steve fell silent that Bucky registered what he'd said. He looked up, panicked, to see Steve watching him carefully, blue eyes thoughtful. "You do...prefer men, though?"

Bucky swallowed, trying to appear nonchalant and failing as he dropped his gaze from Steve's and shrugged at his soup. Before he could say anything, Steve hurried to add: "I mean, you don't have to - it's just,  _I_ prefer men. Generally. So, you could say so. If you wanted." Steve winced and rubbed at his head, and then winced again when the motion pulled at his ribs. "Never mind. Ignore me. I'm tired and being rude." 

He looked so pathetically contrite that Bucky found his dark mood lifted entirely - though that had more to do with Steve's admission than anything else. It hadn't even occurred to Bucky that Steve might be interested in men. 

"It's fine," he mumbled, sleep-deprived mind not prepared to function under this sudden swell of hope. Could Steve be...interested? In Bucky? "We should to get back to work."

Steve nodded, still looking miserable, and Bucky caught himself saying: "I do prefer men. Just, I prefer them to not have walking pneumonia when I ask them out."

Steve paused, halfway out of his chair, and looked at Bucky with wide eyes. Enough time passed that Bucky began to wonder if he'd got it wrong, that he'd misread the situation entirely, and he thought frantically how he could pull all his cards back off the table, when Steve huffed out a laugh.

"I don't have walking pneumonia, you jerk."

Bucky would've sagged with relief, if he hadn't felt so light. "Guess I'd better ask you to dinner, then," he said, trying and failing to hide his delight. Steve didn't mind, if the smile turning up the corner of his mouth was anything to go by.

"Yeah," he played along. "You should." A challenging glint lit up his eyes. "Tonight, even, if you can finish your assignment in time."

Bucky's heart kicked in his chest. "I don't know...I should probably take my time on that. It's an important project. Can't give Pierce a chance to land on any mistakes. My boss would kill me." 

"Don't worry," Steve said, smiling up at Bucky, a hand on his still-tender ribs, looking for all the world like a strong wind could knock him over; yet he was still the steadiest thing Bucky'd ever seen. "I'll protect you." 

Funny thing was, Bucky believed it, one-hundred percent. 

**Author's Note:**

> Trope - we work at the same office.


End file.
